<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>41 Going On 14 by SpuffyCarrie</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671867">41 Going On 14</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpuffyCarrie/pseuds/SpuffyCarrie'>SpuffyCarrie</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adult Draco Malfoy, Adult Hermione Granger, Birthday, Concussions, F/M, Implied/Referenced Sex, Minister for Magic Hermione Granger</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26671867</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpuffyCarrie/pseuds/SpuffyCarrie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione Granger, Minister for Magic, slips in the shower on the morning of her 41st birthday. Her subsequent concussion sends her back to age 14, 1993 in her mind. Will she remember her husband and how to run the Wizarding world? Or will things go totally tits up?<br/>Barely based on 13 Going on 30.<br/>One-shot, unbetaed, all mistakes are my own.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>97</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>41 Going On 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable music, characters, settings, pictures etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p>
<p></p><div class="">
<p></p><div class=""><p>"Sweet Merlin, how in the Salazar’s hairy loofah did I get so lucky?” Draco Malfoy let out a low whistle while hovering at the door to the bathroom in their three-floor townhouse off Diagon, appraising his wife in the shower,</p></div><div class=""><p>“I'm leaving now princess because if I don’t then I’ll be joining you fully clothed and ravishing you until you can’t walk.”</p></div><div class=""><p>“Go on then, or I’ll drag you in and you’ll be late!” Hermione giggled and threw a soggy sponge at his head, barely missing his perfectly coiffured blonde head.</p></div><div class=""><p>“I'll meet you for a surprise birthday lunch at twelve, my gorgeous one, I’ve got a meeting with the partners at Malfoy Industries at ten, but I’ll be finished on time."</p></div><div class=""><p>Draco reached out his arm and knocked on the glass shower door to ensure he had her attention as she rinsed her hair.</p></div><div class=""><p>"Alright sweetheart, missing you already," she called after him, blowing him a kiss through the frosted glass, laughing as her husband took another longing look at her silhouette before leaving. </p></div><div class=""><p>Hermione sighed as she massaged shampoo into her long locks. The morning of her forty-first birthday had been perfect so far, well, as perfect as it could be with her babies Scorpius and Rose far away at Hogwarts. Though if they had been home it could never have begun with such a languid lovemaking session, two earth-shattering orgasms and her arse being slapped several times as Draco called her the naughtiest of girls for shagging a toy-boy. Her core clenched once more at the thought and she chuckled again at the fact her husband was only nine months younger, and she was hardly his sugar mummy.</p></div><div class=""><p>Rinsing her hair, she mulled over the gift Draco had given her, a gold necklace set with forty diamonds and a ruby teardrop pendant, a nod to her former Hogwarts house. It was breath-taking and she had no idea where she might wear it, apart from perhaps at a top-notch Ministry function in her best bib and tucker or the bedroom with very little else. </p></div><div class=""><p>Suds ran into her eyes. As she reached out for her conditioner, her foot slid slightly but she caught herself by grasping the tiles and rubbing at her eyes with the backs of her hands. Turning her head blindly, she reached out for a towel and knocked her shampoo bottle, it began to leak like treacle onto the shower base. </p></div></div><div class="">
  <p>"Close call," she muttered, instantly letting out a scream as she took another step, her heel slipping in the viscous substance, her arms and legs flailing as she fell back, knocking her head on the back of the tub as she went down.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>All went black. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>........</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She woke with a groan, holding her head. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Mum!" She called out, "Mum, I hit my head," she staggered from the shower, grabbing a towel.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The mirror was fogged as she passed, calling out once more to her mother. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Mum—Dad—?" The words died on her lips as she found herself in a room she didn't recognise. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She stumbled around peering out the bedroom door like a frightened rabbit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hello—?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The laptop in the room began to ring and she rushed over to the strange-looking thing, clutching her towel to her chest. Peering closer she wondered what in sweet Circe was happening. It sounded like a phone and there was a phone symbol. She wondered what harm there could be in pressing it. Perhaps it might stop.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Minister Malfoy, I'm calling with your daily schedule." A kindly looking older witch spoke. She could see her face like she was on the television. Hermione peered closer, pressing the woman’s nose with her finger.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She looked behind her cagily. There must be cameras somewhere, like one of those TV shows waiting for her to make a complete idiot of herself, those her parents loved. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"This has to be a joke, I'm Hermione Granger and I've got Potions in an hour with Professor Snape," she murmured, biting her lip.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Minister, are you feeling alright?" The woman asked with a look of concern. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione stared at the woman, trying to find something she recognised about her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"I have classes soon, I can’t find my uniform, I don't know where my parents are and you're speaking to me out of the television. I think you have the wrong person," she moved closer and peered at the woman, "can you even see me? How is it you can see me?" </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Um, perhaps I should cancel your meetings for the day, Minister?" The woman said, peering at her strangely.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Why do you keep calling me Minister?" She backed away, falling over the edge of the large bed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Hermione, you have a full day and your security Auror will meet you at your fireplace in twenty." The TV went dead. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"But...but Snape will take away fifty house points, my essay is due in!" She yelled at the screen, poking it with her forefinger, several times, feeling it bow under her finger; the screen shot rainbows as she pressed. Great help that was.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>An Auror was coming in twenty minutes, an Auror! She was in trouble. Oh Merlin, where were Harry and Ron. She tried calling their names to no avail.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She raced through the house searching for anyone she recognised. This house wasn't her parent’s house, she knew that, and she recognised nothing. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Rushing into the kitchen, she found a note. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>
    <em>"I love you so much, always and forever, happy birthday, love Draco."</em>
  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She sat on the sofa trembling. It was her birthday, the woman called her Minister Malfoy, and — yuck— there was a note from Draco Malfoy, what did it mean?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>This was a nightmare, that’s was it. She pinched herself and yelped, watching the pinkish hue subside on her freckled skin. Nope, this was most certainly not a dream.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Rushing back to the bedroom she searched through the wardrobes searching for her school uniform. There were rails and rails of gowns and suits for adult witches she’d occasionally glanced at on the back pages of the Prophet while looking for a Christmas gift for her mother but no jeans or tops or hoodies suitable for a teenager.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Wait. Somehow, she knew it was her birthday. She was sure she was 14 today, it was niggling at the back of her brain.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Her lower lip wobbled as stared at a sensible skirt and blouse combo before heading for some drawers. A squeak left her lips when she pulled out an emerald green bra which was far too big for her. Rooting around further, she looked for her trainer bra, finding nothing of the sort.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She made the mistake of looking down, and with a jolt, she ran to the wide mirror on the wall opposite the bed. “Galloping Gorgons, I’ve got massive tits!” She blurted out, staring at her body and the curves that had appeared from nowhere. Placing the bra over ‘said’ boobs, she measured the cup size and realised it fitted perfectly. She nodded with a look of astonishment at the woman staring back at her. Gone were the slim hips and developing bust and what replaced it left her flabbergasted. Fit and toned with defined thighs and calves, her figure could only be described as an hourglass, even her face looked older, more defined, and less babyish.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>With a whoop most unlike her, she ran back to the drawers and found a matching thong, before opening the wardrobe again and pulling out a red and gold dress with the most gorgeous gossamer fabric. She didn’t know who the house belonged to but if she were going to borrow something to be sent to Azkaban in then she decided she would be wearing her house colours. Hermione turned on one foot and the dress swung around her like a ballgown.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The pièce de resistance was when she swung open a closet door and found hundreds of pairs of shoes. Hermione Granger was by no means a girly girl, but she secretly adored a good shoe. Picking out a pair of sparkling red heels reminiscent of Dorothy’s in The Wizard of Oz, she slipped them on, gathered the dress to her hips and sat down at an antique French dressing table.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The counter was filled with perfume bottles that smelled divine as she lifted the glass dauber’s and sniffed them, wrinkling her nose as she dropped the scent on the tip of her nose.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She sighed. Her hair. Something had to be done with it and if Lavender or Parvati where there she knew she’d look perfect. Alas, they weren’t, so she tried her best to tie her hair into a lopsided bun at the nape of her head. There. A bit messy but it would do. She placed a diamante clip at the back, satisfied with the result, or she would be if she could see it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Feeling like an adult, she left the room to explore. Surely there would be someone here who could explain this misunderstanding. After all, fourteen-year-old schoolgirls weren’t often removed from school and given a post as the Minister for Magic, someone had definitely made a mistake.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As she tentatively stepped down the stairs, she heard the whooshing of the floo and stood rigid, her hell dipping on the step as she tried to walk in the high heels she’d chosen. What if she had done something terribly wrong that meant she was to be arrested? Their little trio had done some bloody dangerous things over the years and it was possible, as the mastermind between many of them, she was to be arrested for something heinous. Surely Professor McGonagall wouldn’t allow it?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Minister?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A tall, young, and handsome, dark-haired Wizard she didn’t recognise in an Auror’s suit entered the hallway below. His eyes were on her for longer than she expected, taking in her outfit.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She held her head for a moment as a needle-prick pain of recognition rushed through her brain.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Are you feeling okay? Phyllis said you were acting strangely this morning,” he peered through the doors of the lower level suspiciously, his eyes not meeting hers, “Do you have anything to report?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione had absolutely no idea who Phyllis was but the Auror was not arresting her, so she decided to go with the flow for now.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m fine. Where are you taking me?” Always best to be forthright, she nodded to herself.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Apparently, you have a nine o'clock with Heber Silverthorne from the Improper Use of Magic Office,” the Auror said, glancing at a parchment in his hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione grimaced. So that was why she was being called to the Ministry. It didn’t explain why she was alone in the strange house but at least she knew why she was being collected by an Auror.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She held out her arms for magical restraints, “Come on then, slap the restraints on me, I don’t know what I’ve done but I won’t cause you any trouble.” She said solemnly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The Auror looked up, startled before letting out a belly laugh, “Oh, Minster, you’re always so funny! But come on, let’s get going before you’re late.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione followed him and, as they passed a particular door, she looked back longingly towards a massive library she hadn’t noticed before, nor had the chance to investigate. She pouted and let out a huff, this just wasn’t her day, birthday or not.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>……</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Deposited at a desk outside an office that looked vaguely familiar, the woman she’d seen on the weird TV earlier that morning stood immediately, handing her a coffee before ushering her inside.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Right, now we have Silverthorne at nine, followed by a press briefing at ten, then there’s your…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione tuned the woman out as she wandered around the unfamiliar office, looking at photos of a young Harry and Ginny, and someone who looked like Ron but twenty years older, with some dark-haired women who looked almost like Pansy Parkinson in a wedding dress. It couldn’t be, could it? She wondered why the desk might contain a photo of an older cousin of Ron’s or Pansy’s, but as far as the day was currently going, she thought she may need to be ready for anything.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She sat in a comfortable office chair and trailed her fingers over a white peacock feather quill and a muggle paperweight with green bubbles caught in time inside. Glancing to an expensive silver frame where a couple danced at their wedding, twirling romantically, her stomach lurched when she saw the older version of herself dancing with a man who looked very much like Draco Malfoy or his older brother. She wracked her brain, did Malfoy have an older brother or a cousin, or could there be a wizard who walked the earth who might look similar that she may have married?</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>No. Absolutely, not. She was fourteen and would never marry anyone who reminded her of that foul git.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Taking a quill and a piece of parchment, she took a moment to begin to write down all the odd things that had happened that morning.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The door opened with a slight knock, “Minister, your nine o’clock is here.” The woman from earlier ushered in a heavy-set man with salt and pepper hair and whiskers, wearing rather ragged robes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione stared at the list the witch swiftly laid before her. It couldn’t be true, she wasn’t in the Wizangamot before a grand jury for performing underage magic, she <em>was</em> the Minister for Magic and this man was here to see her. Wasn’t this just perfect because she had the chance to make real changes and, even if this was just a dream, she would take great pleasure in it. She’d been dying to access the Ministry archives since she first read about them.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She cleared her throat, “I believe we’re too hard on societies young witches and Wizards. The Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, 1875 has never been adjusted to allow for those who may be in mortal peril, and while compliance with the Decree is monitored and enforced by the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry of Magic using the Trace Charm, I would like to see a more suitable method of monitoring brought in.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione Granger had opinions on policies aged fourteen that would terrify anyone within the Ministry.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Err, yes, well, Minister, that’s why I’m here. Our mission to revise the trace has been a project we’ve been working closely on.” Silverthorne eyed Hermione with a look of confusion, gawking at her outfit.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione nodded, feeling self-conscious, perhaps the ballgown was not ideal in the circumstances. She had no idea what was happening, but it sounded amazing. “Then do carry on Mr Silverthorne, I’m all ears.” She waved graciously.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>…</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco couldn’t wait for noon when he would see his wife of twenty years and celebrate her birthday. Sex that morning had been amazing as always and he had his eye on a stationery cupboard on her floor which might be the ideal venue for a quickie—afternoon delight if you will.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sauntering towards her assistant’s desk, he handed Phyllis one of two roses he held in his hand. The woman was a marvel and she deserved recognition as she was the only witch in the Ministry who never fawned over him. She was excellent in rearranging his wife’s time when he wanted to steal her away from her high-powered job as Minister for Magic and gave him little resistance when he asked politely.  </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He perched himself on the edge of Phyllis’ desk and handed her a rose.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“My darling Phyllis.” He crooned.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Now, now, Mr Malfoy, you know I’m immune to your charms, My Reg is already wise to your ways,” she shook her head, “I’ve already scheduled the Ministers lunch and subsequent afternoon off, surely there cannot be anything else you require?” She pulled her spectacles down on her nose, filling a small receptacle with some water using her wand and placing the flower in it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco smirked, “Dear Phyllis, you know I adore you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You have mentioned that on many occasions but please, do save those lovely sentiments for your wife,” the older witch advised, giving him a knowing look. “How is your mother?” she asked politely.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mother is being mother, pining after her grandchildren and sending them treats from Honeydukes that Hermione must never know about.” He chuckled with a wink.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Please send her my best regards,” she gave a stern smile. She had attended Hogwarts with his mother and Draco rued the day his wife’s assistant chose to retire, Hermione would be lost without her. Phyllis’ organisational skills rivalled his mothers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“So, is she free?” He ventured.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Vester from the Prophet should be leaving anytime n…”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The door slammed open and the reporter in question came flying out from Hermione’s office onto her arse, swiftly followed by the cowering photographer.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I am not forty-one, nor am I married to Draco, bloody, Malfoy, get your facts straight before you come back again!” Hermione yelled. The door was slammed shut and every person outside the room was stock-still in shock.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have never been treated in such a manner before and this will be on the front-page tomorrow, you mark my words!” The journalist, Margo Vesta shouted as she smoothed down her plum-coloured suit, standing and patting her hair.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco was on his feet instantly, making his way to the reporter who replaced Rita Skeeter when she retired.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think not.” He glowered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The woman backed off at his sneer, but he found himself pushed aside by Phyllis.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I have a jar,” Phyllis began, taking a mason jar from the drawer in her desk “I heard a tale once about Skeeter being turned into a cockroach and kept inside something like this for a year, apparently by a schoolgirl with a grudge,” she waved the jar at Vesta who blanched.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Vesta knew the story. Skeeter had warned her about Hermione Malfoy née Granger when she left. She warned her never to cross her. It seemed odd that Skeeter was more afraid of Hermione than her ex-Death Eater husband.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She held up her hands in surrender, “I don’t know what we did wrong, I only finished the interview with a question about her birthday. Things were professional and civil until then.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco waved the woman and her photographer away with a flick of his hand as though they were irritating flies and they rushed away in terror.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She has been acting rather strangely today. I used the muggle Skype she likes to use, and she acted as she’d never seen it before,” Phyllis frowned, “It took me ages to get the technology put in and now I wonder if she no longer wants it.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“She was fine when I left for the office?” He tapped his chin with a slender finger.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“When she arrived, it was almost like she didn’t know what to do,” Phyllis whispered.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco nodded and listened at the door, chuckling, “Let’s hope you don’t find me flying out of there on my arse in a few minutes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I think I’ll take an early lunch.” Phyllis gathered her things and headed off with a sympathetic look.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Pushing the office door open, he found Hermione muttering to herself with her wand in her hand. She was dressed in the oddest outfit and her hair was moulded in an unstructured bun, a look he’d never seen her wear since Hogwarts.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Princess? Are you alright?” He ventured.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione turned and pointed at him, “You cannot be related to Malfoy, tell me it isn’t true,” she snapped.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco stalked across the room, concerned as she aimed viciously at their wedding photograph with her forefinger and stabbed it with a perfectly manicured nail.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Coming up behind her, Hermione felt his presence as he placed his hands low on her hips, far too low in her fourteen-year-old opinion!</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"How dare you touch my...my, my, lady bottom!" She turned and slapped him soundly around the face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>With a look of horror, she realised he looked exactly like the boy who'd bullied her, who hated her and called her mudblood, "You’re a Malfoy? Are you Malfoy's older brother or a Malfoy cousin?" She had no idea if he had an older brother, but it seemed unlikely as she’d never heard of one.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Oh, I do like this game." Draco moved to grab again, stopping as he noticed her eyes were filled with terror. He took a step back. "Hermione? What's wrong, princess?" </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"You don't get to call me Hermione or princess, not when you're involved with that evil man, your father, Lucius! He hurt Harry and Ginny! You can call me Granger. In fact, don't call me anything at all, don't come near me or I'll tell Harry on you." She hopped away, standing behind her chair.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco frowned his father had been dead for over ten years. Something was very wrong, they role-played at home when the kids were away, but nothing had ever been as weird as this and she certainly had never mentioned his dead father, never had, never would if she was in her right mind, she knew how hurt he was by it.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Woah,” he held his hands up, “what in Circe’s knickers is going on with you? I told you I was picking you up for lunch, whats going on? What happened with Vesta?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I would never marry a Malfoy, I’m fourteen for Godricks sake!” She felt her lower lip wobble and tears flooded down her face.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Rushing to the other side of the room she prodded her sore head with her fingertips, staring in shock when she saw blood as she drew her hand away.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco barely caught her by running across the room as she swooned and collapsed into his arms.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Panic-stricken, he rushed through the Minsters personal floo.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“St. Mungo’s,” he announced.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>….</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco sent a Patronus to Potter, the wizard he almost hated as much as Ronald Weasley but tolerated because of the love of his life.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Then he waited, desperate to break down the doors and find out what was going on with his wife. His temper simmered a little lower nowadays, he would still tear the world apart for her, but having two children had taught him the patience and stoicism he hadn’t quite grasped as a young man.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Daddy!” Rose ran along the corridor, followed by her older brother Scorpius, who was now in year six at Hogwarts. He stood and held his arms out to his two teenaged children and hugged them tightly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mum!” Rose sobbed, “Is she alright?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He noted that Potter stayed away and was followed by Headmistress McGonagall, leaning heavily on a walking stick.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t know, she was acting strangely and then she fainted,” Draco hugged them tightly, hating the fact they were upset but glad they were there.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The door to Hermione’s room opened and a smiling Healer stepped out.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Mr Malfoy, you may go in. All is well but please don’t tire her.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco looked to the door and then to his children, their babies-now young adults-the light of his life had gifted him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Come, come, children,” McGonagall ushered with one arm and Draco shot her a look of gratitude as Potter stepped closer.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Malfoy, I’m sorry. I had to—I know if it was me or Ginny, I’d want James and Albus here.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco nodded in acceptance, “Yes, for once I admit you did the right thing, Potter.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>There had always been contention between Draco and Hermione’s best friends, but he’d never stopped them visiting, never mentioned anything of their past to the children. He liked James and Albus, they were good friends to Scorpius and Rose.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Let the others come if they want, I know I can’t stop them,” he sighed deeply at his actions as he clapped Potter on the shoulder, turning to open the door Hermione’s room.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>….</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione was sitting in her room rubbing her thumbs together anxiously. What was Draco going to say? She was forty-one and what the healer had just told her was a big thing, she had to think of him and the way her children would react. She remembered vaguely slapping him, that was one thing. Another thing she remembered was agreeing to pass a law that would change history for young Witches and Wizards, creating a form of magic which would magically record underage magic and only report certain illicit acts, not every act. It would never allow what happened to Harry to happen again. Other than that, she was oblivious, apart from a headache that seemed to cause an ache in every part of her skull.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco opened the door carefully with a wolfish grin. “Will you slap me again or is it safe to come inside?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>She smiled, rolling her eyes as she patted the bed beside her.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He kissed her temple and eased onto the bed beside her, brushing his forehead gently against hers.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“How are you feeling?” He rasped; his voice filled with emotion.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Alright. I’m better now.” She took his hand.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“What have they said? Did the healer tell you anything?” He asked.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Um, yes, s-she told me something big,” Hermione clutched his hand tightly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco was spooked immediately, the worst thing in the world would be to lose the woman he loved with every fibre of his being and he was terrified.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Please don’t leave me. If you’re ill then I’ll spend every galleon I own to make you well again, we can beat this, whatever it is.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hermione reached out and covered his lips with two fingers, “No, its good news, or at least I think it’s good news.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He took her hand and kissed her wrist; good news, it was good news!</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I know it might be a little late and unexpected but we’re having another child.” She gave him a nervous smile.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco moved so fast he fell off the bed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Righting himself and peering over the side up at Hermione, he reached for her, “Yes! Yes, that’s good, right?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“It’s good, it’s so good,” Hermione’s eyes filled with tears as she dragged him close and kissed him, tenderly caressing his cheeks, “I never thought we’d have another but now we are I’m desperate to meet them.” She said tiredly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We should tell Rose and Scorp, they’re outside with Potter and, strangely, McGonagall.” He jumped up.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Then tell them and invite them inside, I want to cuddle my babies, I’ve missed them so much.” She said desperately.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco walked over to the door and flung it open meeting the worried faces of his children and the others waiting outside.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I’m going to be a daddy again!” He shouted, taking in the happy response as Rose bypassed him, pushing him aside as she towards Hermione.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Scorpius pouted sulkily, “Ugh, really dad? I don’t even want to know how that happened, you’re both as old as Hogwarts.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Harsh, my son and heir. One day you’ll understand how perfect it is to have someone to love, someone who accepts you for who you are, whoever it might be,” Draco sighed, shaking his head, “for now get in there and cuddle your mother, she’s missed you and so have I,” Draco nudged his grumbling son with his elbow knowing they’d had ‘the talk’ before Scorp left for school.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Draco watched as his lanky firstborn rushed over to envelop his mother in his arms. It warmed his heart to see the love Hermione bestowed on their children.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Potter stopped at the door and patted Draco on the shoulder.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“You know, Potter,” Draco admitted, “I fell in love with her when she was fourteen at the Yule Ball and now she’s forty-one and she’s made me the happiest man on earth once more. I never deserved her.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Once I might have agreed, but you deserve her now, Malfoy. You’re no longer that whiney, irritating dark and desperate prick you were, and you’ve proved it. You make her incredibly happy, mate, and that’s all I ever wanted for her.” Potter shoved him against the door jovially and left him there to contemplate his words. </p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Headmistress McGonagall paused near the door and bobbed her head, “I will take my leave, please accept my best wishes to you and Mrs Malfoy on your good news.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The elderly witch turned and clicked away with her walking stick as she walked along the corridor pausing and turning, “Your children have been the greatest pleasure to teach, Draco. I wish you both the very best and look forward to teaching your next one.” With that, she apparated away in a cloud of black smog.</p>
</div><p> </p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>